You knew what you expected, the voice in her head whispered. You expected him to have his hand up your skirt before the appetizer course was over. You’re just disappointed that he’s been all business. You must not have made as much of an impression on him as you thought.
Mina’s hand shook a little more as she thought about Marco tracing his fingers along the inside of her thigh, sliding higher and higher, and she put her glass down with a snap.
“Is everything alright?” He inquired his face blandly polite. “You seem a trifle distressed.”
“Everything is fine,” she said. “And I am not distressed. It’s just a little warm in here.” A corkscrew curl had escaped the knot she’d wrestled her hair into with Ivy’s assistance and she brushed it out of her face. Marco’s gaze traveled over her skin and she felt like she was burning up.
“Since we’ve covered all of the requirements from the museum’s end, is there anything else that you would like to discuss? Any other concerns you might have?” She smiled so widely her cheeks hurt, but she’d be damned if she let him see how nervous she was. “Once the contracts are in place, everything else usually follows like clockwork, but I want to make sure you’re satisfied with the arrangements.”
Marco’s eyes finally met hers, holding her gaze for a long, silent moment.
“Contracts are very important,” he said finally. “Verbal agreements are too easy to break.”
Mina winced at the hardness in his tone.
And here it comes, she thought. At least he already signed the contracts for the museum. Even if he decided to throw her off the project, Ivy and Dr. Peabody should be fine.
“Verbal agreements only work between equals,” Mina said, hoping the subtext was clear enough to make him back off. She wasn’t going to allow this man, no matter how good he was in bed, to dictate her behavior. “There has to be trust before the parties involved can accept things at face value.”
Mina watched the handsome face across the table darken, and she knew she’d offended him somehow.
“Trust is hard to come by. But then, some people simply throw trust away.” His lip twisted in a ghost of a sneer. “Apparently preferring to take what they can get and then cut their losses.”
Mina couldn’t believe him—making it out like she’d taken advantage of him. Honestly! Like she could have made him do a damned thing he didn’t want to do. She leaned across the table and pointed a finger at him.
“Hang on a second. It wasn’t like that!” Marco raised an exquisitely arched eyebrow but said nothing. “You want to talk about this, fine, but let’s stop pretending this is about anything but your hurt pride. You’re angry. I get that. I left without saying goodbye. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.” Marco’s shoulders relaxed a little and she could see the beginnings of a satisfied look on his face. That would never do. “But, let me make one thing clear. You told me to stay; I did not agree. I did not promise to stick around. I might have implied, or inferred, or whatever the proper term is, but I never promised anything. It was a one night stand. Nothing more.”
Marco went still, and Mina pulled back from where she’d leaned in to whisper angrily at him. His eyes glittered in the light of the candles flickering on the table, and she felt a moment’s panic as she realized just who she was confronting. This isn’t how this evening was supposed to go, she thought wildly. Oh please, her subconscious snorted, this is exactly where you wanted this evening to go.
“Maybe that’s what you tell yourself,” Marco said with a curt inclination of his head. “Maybe you need that distance. But I don’t like it when others try to dictate rules to me, and I did make promises that night.” He leaned forward and Mina felt the pull of him, the attraction as taut as piano wire strung between them. “Promises I fully intend to keep.”
“Pro-o-mises?” Mina’s voice cracked. What was he talking about? She didn’t remember any promises. He talked—oh how he talked!—describing things he wanted to do to her, places he wanted to show her, dizzying possibilities, yes, but not promises.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember, Mina mia,” Marco said, a playful disappointment coloring his voice before it deepened again, “because I remember every word—every whisper, every plea.”
His voice was weaving a spell around her and Mina had to break it. She grabbed her glass and swallowed a huge mouthful of the fruity, tannin-laden wine, barely tasting it. Her legs were trembling under the table, and she could feel her body betraying her. Her heart raced and her breath quickened, and she ached with a longing for the pleasure Marco had wrung from her.